


Clear To All From Time To Time

by meanderingsoul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Exhaustion, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Hugs, M/M, Netflix and Chill, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping in the Impala, Team Free Will, The Winchester Family, but literally, hair petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9822449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanderingsoul/pseuds/meanderingsoul
Summary: They got back on their feet.They wiped off the blood.They went home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Season 12 is seriously messing with my task schedule guys, fic and otherwise. Everything has been happening so much. Title from Led Zeppelin's Rain Song, because I just had to.

 

“I am very tired,” Castiel announced when they were halfway to the black van. He didn’t stumble and his voice didn’t shake, but something in his voice or maybe the words made Dean reach out and set a hand against his back, made Sam shuffle closer with a worried frown.

Mary couldn’t read Castiel like they could. The boys had known each other for years and she knew next to nothing about it. She’d left John’s journal behind with Sam. She’d heard so many stories now from the hunters she’d met, most of which contradicted each other, most of which she thought seemed impossibly farfetched, just the kind of hunting tall-tales she’d grown up with and never told to her little sons.

She had asked them, where and how they’d met Cas. Dean had huffed and said, “a long time ago”. Sam had shrugged and said, “Back in 08, sometime in the fall.” Neither had offered any other detail, same way they never spoke about John or how he’d died.

She’d asked Castiel how he’d met her boys early on, when the sight of him was still somehow stranger than the sight of her grown babies. He’d been sitting in the library when she couldn’t sleep, had tipped his head to the side in both too quick and too precise a move to be human, had blinked and smiled crookedly.

“I suppose I found Dean’s soul before I ever met either of them properly.”

“Was he… lost?”

“Yes.”

Mary’d wanted to ask more questions but hadn’t, had left things lie. She’d thought there’d be plenty of time later on.

The gear bag with its new cargo was so heavy in her hands.

They loaded into the van in silence. She wouldn’t let Sam or Dean help her with the gear. Castiel moved stiffly, but exhaustion didn’t seem to make him clumsy. Sam still hovered while he climbed in the van. Dean was smiling at him, hadn’t really stopped since Castiel stood up and walked. “What’s the plan Cas? We can get a room somewhere nearby, head over to Lebanon in the afternoon?”

“I want to go home,” he said, and while she usually struggled interpreting his even speech, there was something so clearly hesitant in the way he said the word home that she knew there was another story there she didn’t know.

“Sure buddy. Let’s get you back to your own bed huh?” Dean patted one of the angel’s legs, not the one that had been crippled a few hours ago.

“We need to get cleaned up before we hit the highway,” Sam said, and he was right. Castiel was still covered in blood and black ichor; she could smell it. His blood was drying on her hands. Everyone was dusty.

Mary didn’t ask what exactly had just happened in that barn, with the demon, the lance, that light. Right now, she didn’t want to know.

*

Castiel ached, all over, like human bruises. He was cold. And itchy. Still unable to clean himself or heal the bruises on his family with his exhausted Grace.

The demon had clawed into him with its strange magic, old power, fast and vicious, rending, tearing open wounds on his true form that immediately left one of his vessel’s legs crippled.

Knowledge of Lucifer’s earliest actions and creations had always been forbidden the foot soldiers of Heaven. He hadn’t known there were others as powerful as Azazel still on the earth.

He’d told Mary to run.

Exhaustion did not dim his Sight. Sam’s soul flickered along with his thoughts, a cinder light. Dean had decided to indulge in his relief to the exclusion of all other feeling. He often selected a feeling to feel like this. The fist that still cradled Michael’s broken lance was bruised. Even after everything Castiel felt a twinge of awe to see it in his hands. That Sam had been the one to wield it last made him smile.

Mary shimmered with deep guilt. Castiel didn’t understand it.

He’d begged them to run.

Breaking the lance had terminated its power, had reset him to his previous state. Castiel had not expected Crowley to give up such a powerful weapon in favor of his life. It was a pleasant surprise.

He hadn’t been able to see much by the time Ramiel burst in upon them. Rotting like that at such high speed was agony far greater than he’d ever felt. He could not move his shoulders, could not grasp his blade, could not stand.  If Ramiel had moved to strike one of them down Castiel would have only been able to watch.

He’d been as wont to weep for that additional terror as he had been at their loyalty.

When he’d started to burn out he couldn’t see their faces or hear their voices anymore.

He’d still been able to feel Sam and Dean’s hands on him after he’d taken his last breath.

*

The impala was right where they’d left her, like everything with the hunt had gone to plan.

Everything had gone so wrong so fast Sam’s head was still spinning.

Sam snagged a few of their on-sale water bottles out of the backseat foot well, drained half of one in seconds, swished the hellish grit out of his mouth, traded Dean water for the pieces of Michael’s lance. He stuffed it in the trunk.

Sam didn’t like how it felt in his hands.

Dean hrrmmed behind him and Sam quickly held out his hands so he could rinse them off with water, quick movements from long practice. He shook the grit from his jacket, started digging in his bag for clean shirts.

They were all crunched together by the impala’s trunk. Dean nudged Cas into shrugging out of his coat, pulling off his tie. He untied the useless bandage and peeled up Cas’s stained shirt, hunched down to squint at the wound. “There we go, not a mark on you now. Didn’t even screw up your ink.”

Dean was still smiling, small and fixed but not forced. Cas was staring at him, extra focused that way he did, though he started to help Dean unbutton his shirt and tug it off after a minute.

Cas’s shirt was _soaked_ in blood.

Four or five lifetimes ago Dean had been supposed to kill Sam in cold blood, probably with the same weapon, and Cas had been supposed to ensure it happened.

A lot had changed.

Sam pulled on a fresh shirt, started stowing the guns away properly. Dean helped Cas wipe the blood away with a car rag and bottled water, pulled one of his spare t shirts down over Cas’s head, same way Sam remembered being helped getting dressed for school.

Mom was watching the road behind them, but kept glancing between them weird. It’d been a long time since Sam bothered wondering about how and when and where Dean and Cas touched, because it was definitely some complicated system of crap only the two of them understood. It wasn’t even the first time they’d gotten Cas cleaned up after something had really gone wrong. Cas didn’t always realize how bad he looked to muggles or why he was itchy. It definitely wasn’t the first time Sam and Dean had washed their hands, changed a shirt and hit the highway after a hunt.

They were all pretty used to each other now, even with all the time spent apart in the last couple years. There were months and months of memories of the three of them living like this.

This had been way too close. Oh God this had been too close. Cas’s leg had been corded and trembling and way, way too hot and they’d had no idea how to stop him choking to death and no time left.

Cas had started frowning when the t-shirt pulled at his hair. Dean grinned and ran both hands back through it to mess it up the more familiar way. “That’s better. Sammy you got a…?”

“Yeah.” He passed one of his overshirts into Dean’s hands and Cas shrugged it on, leaning heavily against the side of the impala.

Cas kept staring between the three of them like he was drinking it in.

Dean was shoving Cas’s clothes into an old grocery bag when Cas blinked and frowned and said, “My truck keys.”

Cas seemed to like the truck he’d stolen. It was a little older, bland colors, and they’d put different plates on it weeks ago. Why not. “I’ll drive your truck back Cas. You’re too wiped out to drive.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not really a long haul to the bunker. I’ll just follow you guys. I’m still wired anyway.”

After a beat Cas smiled, said “Thank you Sam,” like that was something above and beyond, like that was… shit.

Sam stepped over and hugged Cas tight.

Cas had always seemed to take up more space than just his vessel. Sam never remembered he was actually a bit shorter than Dean until he could physically feel it. Cas patted one hand gently against his back twice, a gesture he’d learned to mimic years ago.

He grinned up at Sam when he stepped back.

Shit they could have been burying him right now. No. No, they’d have brought him home. They’d have kept him close. Ug, it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Dean squeezed Sam’s arm warmly before he tossed over Cas’s keys.

Sam nudged Cas to take shotgun.

*

Cas was totally done in as soon as he sat down in baby, head lolled back at a bad angle and seatbelt off, eyes shut.

He was breathing. _Oh_ he was still breathing.

Dean was fizzy and jittery with relief almost like pain, like too much caffeine in his system. Twitching legs and aching chest and desperate fixed open eyes.

_oh no oh shit no this is bad oh fuck no please not now not like this no please no no no not like this_

Dean went ahead and left the car purring while Sam started up Cas’s truck, locked her doors, tugged the seatbelt around Cas’s waist but left his arms free, lifted Cas’s legs up on the seat, slid him sideways to lean heavy on Dean’s shoulder. Cas grumbled being moved, frowned a little. His vessel had aged in strange little ways, lines around his eyes and mouth.

“Shhh, shh buddy, you rest up. Lemme get you home, ok?”

Cas settled, heavy and warm against his side. Dean tapped _Houses of the Holy_ into place, turned the volume low, flashed the lights back at Sam to hit the road.

_please no please no please not like this please i’ll do anything fucking please anyone god amara please_

Sammy’s flannel fit Cas fine around his upper arms but he was swimming in the rest of it, ugly orange plaid around his hands and draped down over his damp suit pants where they’d wiped the blood off.

He still knew every mark on Cas’s worn-in body, the faint boxcutter scars, the scars from purgatory, from Heaven, the ink and light freckles on his flanks, all the little marks he’d picked up on his hands while he’d been human. The lance hadn’t left a new mark.

_please no no no michael how could you ever how the fuck could you ever i’m gonna fucking kill you no_

Dean pressed his nose and jaw and corner of his mouth into Cas’s messy hair. They all reeked like barn dust and blood and burnt oil, but he could still smell Cas underneath, ozone and salt and ice.

His right arm ached from hitting something with everything he got that still didn’t give a shit it was getting hit. His chest ached more.

_i need you i need you you know i need you please cas don’t go please_

Cas was always so fuckin brave, braver than Dean had ever managed for one moment of his entire damned life. Dean didn't have much to offer back.

Dean had begged on his knees without shame and fuckin Crowley had answered. He figured maybe they'd have to be square now, let a few grudges slide.

He rewound the start of the tape over and over and sang _Rain Song_ into Cas’s hair for miles.

*

Sam’s eyes felt full of gritty sand by the time he pulled Cas’s truck into place behind the bunker. Dean had left the garage door open for him, yellow light spilling out into the greenish dawn. It was hard to see the door once it’d closed, with it warded like everything else.

They were both still just sitting there in the car. They had been inside a few minutes already? Had to be. Sam didn’t like to speed as much as Dean. Maybe something was…

But Sam couldn’t help smiling when he opened the impala’s door. They didn’t hear Cas’s raspy little snore very often but it never got any less weirdly cute.

“Sleeping like a little angel, huh,” Dean said, not smiling, but there was something steady about him. Cas was leaned back onto Dean’s shoulder, pinning him in place with his dead weight.

Shit, too soon to think that phrase. Sam had really thought it was all over for them not even twelve hours ago.

“Think we can get him upstairs without waking him up?”

Sam shrugged. “Worth a try.”

Of course Castiel blinked awake as soon as Sam got a grip on him by the elbows and Dean shuffled out of the car.

“Sam?” he asked, sounding a bit more gravelly than usual, like he was still sleepy and frowning and Sam had to swallow down sudden laughter.

“Yeah Cas, it’s me. We’re back home.”

*

Castiel had been able to smell the gleam of the bunker’s warding before he was really awake, feel Sam’s hands under his arms. Sleeping was always disturbing, losing his awareness of the universe and then blinking it back, though it wasn’t as repulsive and dull a task as urination.

“Think you can handle the stairs?” Sam asked him.

“Of course.” He wasn’t injured, just drained. He wasn’t focusing on the visual input around him very well. Dean was walking around nearby; he could hear the brittle bright amber green of him. Sam was still leaning down in front of him but it took Cas a few tries to see his face over the smooth rusted red indigo sounds of him.

It seemed he only blinked before Castiel sat down on his bed. It appeared to be openly considered his bed now. Not temporary. That was very nice. More than an old coat, though Ishim could never ever understand what Castiel had gained from the Winchesters. Sleeping was very inconvenient. He’d woken once in the impala to Dean’s soft singing and the colors of a purr.

Sam’s hands lingered on his shoulders. “I’m gonna go grab you some of Dean’s stuff to sleep in ok? I’ll be right back.”

Clearly Sam and Dean were reluctant to leave him alone for any significant length of time. He had been very visibly injured and his more visible injuries had always beget the most concern. That probably made sense. It was harder to worry about injuries that were invisible.

If the reluctance was more to do with what he had said, Castiel did not regret any of his words.

Sam reappeared physically and set some soft clothing down next to him. “Here. I can hear Dean heading up now." There was a faint rasp as his feet shifted against the floor, shuffled.

Sam did not frequently reach for him, but he leaned down and wrapped both arms around Castiel’s shoulders again. “I’m really glad you’re here Cas,” he said quietly.

Castiel set both hands against the wings of Sam’s shoulder blades. Sam’s heartbeat was very loud here. “I am also grateful for this Sam.”

*

Dean dropped their bags at the right doors, kicked his to the foot of his bed, stripped everything off and quickly wiped himself down with a cold, wet washcloth, pulled on a fresh t shirt. He was back out his door in less than a minute.

Cas was sitting slumped and hazy at the edge of his bed, feet still in their usual shoes and resting on the floor. Dean recognized his own clothes next to him. Sam must have grabbed some stuff before he hopped in the showers.

Dean knelt and pulled off Cas’s shoes, shivered when Cas’s fingers trailed over his left shoulder.

“Dean.”

“Yeah Cas.”

It didn’t take much prodding to get Cas to change these days, not like it had back when the flasher coat had seemed more attached than not. Cas fumbled into the other pants, pulled half of the blanket sideways over himself and went still, lying on his side with his arms folded against his chest.

Dean huffed and pulled the rest of the blanket free of the bed and the sheets, folding it over Cas’s legs. “There you go. World’s only angel taco, huh?”

Cas was still staring at him.

Dean pulled the room’s chair over close in the dim light from the hall, sat and rested his head on his hand, slid the other one back to tuck his fingers into Cas’s hair.

He let himself just look at Cas, drink him in the same way Cas had been doing.

It had been a couple years now since they’d last kissed, hadn’t it. Shit it had been so long. He still remembered teaching Cas how like it was yesterday, not a few wars and dimensions and poisons and a lot of broken bones behind them.

He’d have to fix that soon. Just not today, not like this.

Dean kneaded his thumb along Cas’s neck and he blinked back slowly. “You should get some more sleep.”

“It doesn’t seem to be happening.”

“Sleep? It will. Everything’s ok now. We’ve got time.”

Cas curled a finger around the dent his elbow made in the mattress.

Sam shuffled by outside the door, peered in, left and came back with his laptop, trailing cables and water drips from his hair. He yawned while he pulled up the least creepy nature documentary in Cas’s queue and sat down on the bed.

Dean watched Cas close his eyes and smile.

*

Mary hadn’t wasted any time with unnecessary cleanup.

Ramiel’s body had vanished when he died. The bodies of the two demons would be left as is, perhaps for local law enforcement to mull over, though this whole location would likely be swarming with demons soon. Wally she dragged into her van, drove out deeper into the countryside, well off the road, before she salted the ground and piled brush around him to burn the body, scratched Wally into a wooden stake and pounded it into the ground until her hands stung.

She prayed quickly. She cursed until her throat ached.

30 seconds hadn’t been enough time to decide what to do. There hasn’t been enough time.

They’d almost lost Castiel. She’d almost…

Castiel had been trying not to scare her, with how bad it was. He must have been able to feel it, how something was wrong in the too viscous blood that wouldn’t stop oozing up, how her quick tourniquet had done nothing. She’d never seen a body warp like that from spell work, the creeping dark fractures.

Dean had seemed to know how bad it was on sight. Sam too.

She loved all three of them now. She really did, had hugged them all before they’d split up to meet back at the bunker. She’d promised she’d be there. She’d whispered sorry to Castiel, had let Dean rinse her hands of his blood with the same brisk gentleness he’d shown the other two. Sam had leaned his cheek against her hair.

She loved those boys but she knew she still didn’t know them at all.

When she let herself into the bunker late that morning it was silent. There weren’t any breakfast dishes or crumbs. No coffee cups or boots. She didn’t call their names, walked silently with years and years of practice.

In the other bedroom on the hall Sam and Dean slept on she found all three of them. Some webpage called Netflix was still showing on the tiny computer screen. Sam’s head was pillowed on his crossed arms at the foot of the bed near the screen. One of his shins was against Castiel’s back. Castiel was only visible as a shape inside a mass of grey blanket, though his dark hair was visible shoved in the space under Dean’s armpit. Dean was asleep on his stomach with one arm up under a pillow and the back of a hand resting on the floor. There was an empty chair near the bed.

Dean’s boots were still on. He’d never been a fussy sleeper.

She shut the door again quietly. They should sleep some more while she had a shower and a nap.

They could all have dinner later. Dean was a damn good cook somehow. She had no idea when he’d learned or who he’d inherited that from because it certainly wasn’t her. Or maybe she’d take Sam along with her and they’d go pick up something from town. She’d stay for dinner. She’d probably let herself sleep here, leave tomorrow after breakfast. There was time for that. It would be good to be together.

But before anything else Mary sent a text.

 _We need to meet_.

 


End file.
